Private Affair
by Mele
Summary: Naomi tells Jim of her surprising past, and who Blair's father was.


_**Disclaimer** : The usual. Pet Fly owns the entire Sentinel world, I'm just an alien visitor enjoying the company._

 _ **Notes and Timeline:** I'd have to say mid second season or so. Before Sentinel Too, before the opening chapter of the diss, before the strain in their friendship. My turn at explaining Blair's parentage. Please note, I don't know much about Vietnam nor serving in the military, so parts are intentionally vague. If I totally mucked it up it was unintentional and due to ignorance._

 _ **Warnings:** Death of non-canon character and a sprinkling of cussing. Story also contains a kinder, gentler version of Naomi, so if you dislike the character you won't care for this one._

 **Private Affair**

By Mele

"Naomi, I'm going to go with Uncle Jacob to the Goodwill with this load. When we get back you guys want to break for lunch?" Blair asked, looking at his mom and Jim with bright enthusiasm.

"Sure, sounds good, Chief. We'll start in on this side of the room," Ellison replied with a cheerful smile of his own.

"Wow, Mom, what a deep voice you have!" Sandburg teased.

"That sounds fine, Sweetie," his mom chuckled, looking up from her careful packing and pushing a stray tendril of hair back distractedly.

When Naomi had called the previous Thursday to tell Blair that his maternal grandfather had passed away, Jim spent that evening listening to the younger man reminisce about the elderly gentleman everyone called the Colonel. The Sentinel had met the former military man the previous year, and had thoroughly enjoyed a two-day visit, trading stories and comparing their periods of active duty while Naomi and Blair had reconnected over herbal tea and shared meditation. Jim had been more than a little surprised that 'pig' hating Naomi was the daughter of a career military man, but apparently her dislike for the police did not extend to soldiers. Though father and daughter obviously did not see eye-to-eye on some matters, they had a working truce fueled by undeniable love.

But even then the tenacious grip of cancer had been evident in the older man's slow movements and capricious appetite. The news of his death had been sad, but not overwhelming; by the time he breathed his last the Colonel was relieved to go.

Naomi's mother had died five years before, so it fell to Blair and his mom, along with Naomi's single brother, Jacob, to clear out the old house, assisted by Ellison, who was not willing to let his younger friend face this alone. He needn't have worried, as it turned out. The two days had turned into a continuous round of story telling, laughter, and a subtle mending of fences between a brother and sister who had grown distant over the years. Blair reveled in the exposure to the man who was honored by Blair's middle name, taking every opportunity to get his 'favorite uncle' alone and pry more family secrets from him.

"I'm not sure, Naomi, but I think your brother may be a bad influence on Blair," Jim teased her, taking the top off an old-fashioned hatbox.

"And you're such a good influence, Jim? My Blair is not easily corrupted," she smirked in return, before stopping and staring wide eyed at what the tall man held in his hand.

Two sets of dog tags dangled from the Sentinel's long fingers, clicking together with a soft metallic clink that was far too cheerful in the suddenly stifling room. Jim didn't notice Naomi's expression as he brought the first set of tags up to read the identification on them.

"Jonathan Richmond, Private," he intoned before looking at the second set more closely. "Naomi Sand…Naomi?" he looked up at her with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, Jim. Naomi Sandburg, Private, US Army," she took the two sets of dog tags from him, running a reverent finger down the ones for Jonathon Richmond. "But that was a very, very long time ago. A lifetime ago. That Naomi Sandburg no longer exists," she whispered.

He took her cold hands in his warm ones and helped her over to a nearby chair, settling her down gently. "Tell me, please," he prompted her, worried by her pallor and hating the sheen of tears in her eyes. "What happened?"

"Vietnam happened. Reality happened…"

 **1968**

"Please, can't you look again?" Naomi asked desperately, her pleas for assistance falling on disinterested ears.

"Look, Miss, this ain't the fucking Ritz. And I ain't the doorman. If you can't keep track of your own belongings, that ain't no concern of mine. You got your name and unit on it, it'll show up. If not then you're dumber than the average. Now, I got a schedule to keep, and I'm not going to explain to my superiors how I got behind because some girl forgot her luggage," he concluded in a snide tone of voice as he hustled her off the bus amidst assorted shouts to get that 'damned bus' out of the way of incoming ambulances.

Basically shoved to the side by medical personnel hurrying about, Naomi felt tears fill her eyes and fought the urge to cry. She'd asked for this, she'd trained for this, and if it wasn't exactly what she'd expected, well, she couldn't really blame anyone for that. No daughter of Esau Jacob Sandburg would be caught anywhere crying like some sissified little ninny who was afraid of a little mud and hardship. She was the daughter of the Colonel, and she was determined to do her father proud.

Pulling herself together with an effort, she noticed another young woman struggling to keep her half of a stretcher even, so Naomi hurried over to offer her assistance. Within a short while she'd found her temporary niche: pitching in wherever she noticed an extra set of hands would be helpful, ending up putting in a ten-hour day before she'd even officially checked in.

Walking away from the field hospital exhausted and fairly well numb from the abrupt introduction to battlefield medicine, she stumbled over the uneven ground, staggering into a young man who caught her before she could fall.

"Whoa, there, careful," he admonished her cheerfully. She looked up into deep blue eyes that sparkled with intelligence and good cheer above a smile of surprising sweetness. It was the first smile she'd seen all day she realized, and she couldn't help but return it gratefully.

"Sorry. I guess I'm more tired than I realized. Could you possibly tell me where the head nurse's office is? I think I'm supposed to check in with her," Naomi asked.

"Sure. In fact, I'll escort you there myself," he offered with exaggerated gallantry. "I'm Private Jonathan Richmond, Jon to my friends, Jonny to my mother, and 'that damn fool ambulance driver' to most of the division commanders I've met. Who might you be?" He'd been surreptitiously watching the young woman with the vibrant red hair all day, as impressed by her industry and determination as he was attracted by her beauty.

"Private Naomi Sandburg, Naomi to pretty much one and all," she grinned back, shaking his proffered hand heartily.

"Well, then Private Sandburg, let's get you checked in, then maybe you'll join me at the mess for a quick drink. My treat."

A half hour later she was sipping a tepid coke in a semi-quiet corner of the mess hall, watching the folks around her interact. Jonathan smiled at her slightly befuddled expression, remembering his first few days 'in country' with a strange sense of nostalgia; he felt so much older now.

"Where're you from, Naomi?" he asked after a few quiet minutes.

"Oh, San Francisco, in California," she explained with a musical laugh at his slightly amazed expression. "Yes, a military brat in the center of the 'Free Love' universe."

"I'm suitably jealous," he replied, shaking his head. "I've wanted to go to San Francisco forever. I'm from Smith Valley, Nevada. Little hole in the wall place no one's ever heard of. You're keeping company with the only hippie Smith Valley can lay claim to, Miss Naomi Sandburg, even is he IS a shorn hippie."

"Oh, come on, now. You aren't really a hippie, are you? You don't look like one of those worthless bums who hang around the Haight Ashbury area smoking strange cigarettes and wearing bright colored rags for clothing." Her smooth brow wrinkled in confusion at the thought, but her words, though harsh in meaning, were not spoken with any strong emotion. Instead they sounded oddly recycled, like a story oft heard and repeated more out of duty than personal conviction.

"That sounds like one of your parents talking," he observed mildly. "Have you ever really listened to any of them? Talked to them as a person and not as a cliché?"

She had the basic honesty to recognize his words for the truth they contained, and she blushed a bit at being caught. "Okay, so I've never really talked to one. And they DO look like they are having a good time. But the cops are called out there so often, and it can't be good that they don't have jobs or direction or real homes. Is it?"

"Truthfully? No, probably not. But we're young, we don't want to be like our parents were, tied down to the nine to five routine, raising kids, paying the mortgage, going bowling on Thursdays for the social interaction. No, I want to explore the world, SEE how people live, be part of it all. Not just watch it on TV or read it in books. Once my tour of duty is over I'm going to go where the wind takes me," he declared grandly, waving one arm in a sweeping circle. "Then, when I've seen as much as I can, I'll find me a good woman, make a home, raise the kids, the whole bit. When I'm an old man of thirty or so. Don't you dream, Naomi?"

"I've been on the military path for as long as I can remember. My dad was a career military man, I just always figured that's what I'd do, that didn't leave much room for dreams," she noted, fiddling restlessly with her empty coke bottle.

"That doesn't really answer my question, does it?" he prompted gently.

"Okay, so I dream. But they're just that: dreams. They won't…can't…come true. I can't defy my father's wishes, I don't have that kind of courage."

"Don't have that kind of courage? My God, you came halfway around the world to this godforsaken patch of hell, all in the name of duty, and you say you don't have courage? Me, I got drafted, had no choice. You volunteered, signed up. You have courage by the bucketful, Red. Maybe a little light on the common sense, but a houseful of courage," he grinned.

She quirked an eyebrow at the 'Red' comment, but couldn't suppress a bashful smile in reply. "Thank you, I think," she yawned, blushing at her unintentional rudeness. "I also think it is all catching up with me. I need to lay down and sleep for about a week, if possible. After a shower…oh, darn…" she trailed off.

"What?" Jon asked as they wandered back out into the warm night.

"Oh, it's stupid. My luggage didn't make it over, got lost somehow. It's bound to show up eventually, I have the unit number and all on it, but in the meantime all I have is what's on my back. I'll check with the camp clerk in the morning for some extra uniforms at least," she assured him.

"Wait, come with me for a second, okay?" he led her toward where they parked the ambulances, rooting around behind the seat of on while muttering distractedly.  
"Ah ha! Here it is. Here you go, Madam, one spare set of clothing. May need to find a belt of some sort to hold the pants up, but it's clean - if a bit wrinkled."

"You don't have to do this…" she began, but he held up a hand to stop her words.

"It's my pleasure, Naomi. Next time you see me, you can give them back, it's not a big deal. Now you go get that shower and rest, you're going to need it. I do the run to here often enough I'll keep my eye on you, so you behave. And remember; when things are overwhelming, don't be afraid to dream of a better time and place, okay?" he hugged her with an endearing kindness then settled himself behind the wheel of the ambulance and started the engine.

"See ya 'round the neighborhood, Red."

She watched him drive off into the unknown night, feeling oddly bereft and lonelier than she had before she encountered him. Still, a smile drifted across her face as she cradled the bundle of clothing to her chest and headed toward the women's showers. A half hour later the deserted shower room echoed her shocked giggles as she contemplated the mirror, which showed her just how ridiculous she looked in blue striped boxer shorts and a too-large plain white T-shirt. She'd discovered her new 'off duty uniform' would also consist of a very baggy pair of blue jeans and a blue and red plaid flannel shirt. Still chuckling a little, she pulled on the outer clothes, finding them to be soft and well worn; comfortable as a parent's hug. Her spirits restored, she went to her assigned tent, and soon fell into an exhausted sleep, too worn out to even dream.

TSTSTS

Jon did in fact see Naomi often 'round the neighborhood,' as he put it; whenever his run took him to that location he sought out Naomi's company, even if it was only to assure himself she was still there and in one piece. She looked forward to seeing him, usually finding a reason to be out and about whenever ambulances arrived.

She'd never returned the loaned clothing, even after her own belongings arrived a week late. They had become her 'comfort clothes', the ones she wrapped herself in after a particularly grueling shift. Her innocence was rapidly wearing away, seeing young men she might have dated under different circumstances, arriving daily with horrendous injuries she couldn't have imagined possible. Seeing the same young men shipped home missing arms or legs or vital parts of their spirits. She saw boys younger than she brought in so stoned on whatever drugs they could find they didn't even realize they'd been injured. She did her best by them all: the injured, the frightened, the intoxicated, the maimed, and the dying.

She herself graduated from drinking colas to drinking colas spiked with rum, or whatever was available in a pinch, to help deaden the rapidly growing sense of despair and defeat. She was a latecomer to a pre-existing unit, an outsider, and for whatever reason they were slow to absorb her into their group. It didn't help that Naomi clashed almost immediately with the head nurse, who seemed determined to find fault with everything her newest nurse did.

The rules for the nurses were strict and unyielding; they were expected to comport themselves with professional detachment and personal dignity at all times. They were not to become romantically involved with coworkers, soldiers, or anyone else for that matter. They were not to smoke, drink to excess, take drugs, or engage in erotic pursuits, as Major Harriman put it. That none of the nurses actually followed these rules was a well-guarded secret, and even if the others hadn't warmed to Naomi, she kept their confidences well.

She'd been in the country six weeks when Jon came in with another load of injured soldiers, part of a huge influx of wounded after a particularly nasty – and ultimately unsuccessful – battle. Naomi had been assigned to triage, so frantically busy she barely had time to register the faces of the young soldiers who passed through her care. It was near the end of a nearly fourteen-hour shift when she happened to glance at the face of a patient who had come in the last group. He had been declared DOA, and in the haste and confusion had been left on the stretcher, uncovered, while the living were tended.

Naomi looked down at the youthful face, bloodless and still, yet strangely unmarred, and recognized him from three weeks before when he'd been brought in with a minor injury. They'd treated him, and then after two days had released him back to his unit. Naomi had spent a pleasant couple of hours chatting with him, helping him write a letter to his younger sister, whose thirteenth birthday was coming up. In her memory she could hear him joking about how his baby sister was turning into a young woman, and he hoped he'd be back home before she started dating so he could check out her potential boyfriends.

Reality crashed in on the young nurse in that moment, and with an inarticulate sound of dismay she tore off her blood splattered gown and threw it toward the laundry with unseemly energy. Ignoring the puzzled and concerned looks from her colleagues, she ran out the door and toward the outskirts of the camp, heedless of any danger and never hearing the voice frantically shouting at her to stop. Plunging into the undergrowth she stumbled a few times before finally falling headlong over an exposed root. Too exhausted and defeated to move she simply stayed as she fell, sobbing breathlessly.

"Naomi, Honey, come on, shhh…shhhh…calm down…" Jonathon's voice was gentle as he lifted the distraught young woman into his arms and sat down, rocking her as one might a young child. "It's okay, Naomi, it'll be okay. You need to calm down a little…" he murmured at her, rubbing her back soothingly as he spoke.

"His name was Tim, they didn't even know that, did they? They killed him, and his name was Tim. He has a sister and a mother and father, he wanted to be a pharmacist, and own his own store. They didn't know and they didn't even care. Not the Vietnamese and not our own government. He had a name and a dream and a family and now it's all gone and he didn't even really know what he was fighting for. I'm sick of it all…the death, the blood, the dull eyed zombies we treat, the cold food and the cold showers and the cold shoulder from everyone. I can't even tell if I'm still alive, I feel so dead inside," she sobbed brokenly on Jon's shoulder, clinging to him as if to a life preserver in a turbulent sea.

"You're alive, Sweetheart, so very alive. It wouldn't hurt like this if you weren't, you know?" he reassured her with a small chuckle, hoping to bring her out of her despair.

Huge eyes looked up at him from the pinched young face, eyes filled with more pain and confusion than he could bear. Instinctively he tightened his hold on the slender body.

"Make me feel alive, please?" she whispered, driven by a fierce instinct. "Love me and make me feel alive?"

"Naomi, this…this isn't a good idea. I…are you sure you want to do this?" he stumbled over the words.

"Yes," she declared, sounding more confident and calm. "What's the point of waiting? You might get killed, I might get killed. The world could end tomorrow, and all I'll have are regrets and unfulfilled dreams. Love me."

So he did, as gently and thoroughly as a nineteen year old could. She was his first, he was hers, and despite some pain and fumbling it was sweet and perfect, and for a brief space of time there was no war, just two young lovers discovering each other for the first time.

TSTSTS

For a young woman raised in a strict household with military morality and traditions, Naomi took to her first love affair with surprising abandon. After that first time, they took every opportunity to be together; stolen moments of passion that brightened an otherwise unrelentingly grim time. But even more than the physical pleasure, they treasured the chance to dream, to escape – however fleetingly – the horrors of the war, and travel the world they knew was waiting for them. With his love of history, and her knowledge of geography and culture, they traveled far and wide while never leaving the marginal safety of the encampment.

"…and the lakes are so calm they look like glass," Naomi concluded, looking up at Jon from her position lying with her head pillowed in his lap.

"Sounds beautiful, Star, maybe even one for the list, but it takes more than a lake to impress me," he grinned, running a gentle hand through her unruly red locks.

"Oh? And why's that, Spider?" she asked perkily, smiling as always at the nicknames. He had dubbed her 'Star' after learning her middle name was Esther, while he became 'Spider' courtesy of his fondness for Spiderman comics, which he sometimes read to her during their quiet moments, a quirk she found strangely endearing.

"Because one of the prettiest lakes in the entire world is very nearly in my neighborhood," he replied with a chuckle. "Lake Tahoe. You can sit under the pine trees and dip your feet right into the ice-cold water. It's so clear you'd swear you could count all the rocks on the bottom. The breeze whispers through the trees, while the sun sparkles on the surface of the water, making it appear to be sea of diamonds." His voice grew softer and dreamier as he continued. "The air is crisp and clean, there's a peace that just wraps you in its warm embrace, and when you're there it's impossible to believe that there could ever be death and pain and ugliness in the world."

She turned wide eyes up at him, caught up in his tone of reverence as he continued. "Then, when the sun sets behind the mountains, the stars come out, so near you'll believe you can simply reach out and grab one to light your way home. And as you come down the back grade, there's Reno, spread out in the valley below, decked out in her evening finery, glowing like a well banked fire; red hot to the stars' cool beauty." He stopped speaking and cleared his throat a little self-consciously. "It's my dream to someday share that with you."

"You will," Naomi said with quiet conviction.

Jon blushed and ran his right hand over the side of his neck, a nervous habit he had. "I'm hoping someday, after we've seen the world and are ready to settle down, that we can get us a place there, and maybe raise a couple of kids out where they can grow free and wild and safe," he admitted bashfully.

"That sounds nice," Naomi agreed dreamily, a wistful smile crossing her face. "We could grow our own vegetables, make our own clothes, live off the land. Home school our children. Moonglow and….what?…Diaphanous Cloud?" she teased, having expressed her dismay at the excessively creative names some hippies had chosen in recent times.

Jon snorted out a quiet laugh, leaning down to kiss the tip of Naomi's nose affectionately. "No, I was thinking something just a little more traditional," he informed her, his light tone of voice belying the suddenly serious glint in his blue eyes.

"Oh?" The questioning lift of one elegant eyebrow said it all, and he unconsciously took her hand in his as he spoke.

"Since we're doing a little dreaming here, I might as well confess the whole dream. I want to have a son to bear the name 'Blair'," he admitted.

"A son? I'd thought Blair was a girl's name," Naomi countered with a puzzled frown. "Though it's not a particularly girly name, now that I think about it. Why that particular name?" she queried gently.

"Blair Priestley. He lived in Mason, not far from Smith Valley, and not surprisingly our high schools are bitter rivals. He was the 'big man' on their campus, I was on mine, and for four years we butted heads at every competition. He's at least part of the reason I got the kind of grades I did. I couldn't stand the notion he could be better than me at anything. Then after high school, he got his draft notice three weeks before I got mine." Jon's voice trailed off as his gaze settled on the silent bulk of the night quiet encampment.

"What happened to him?" his companion prompted him when the silence grew too oppressive.

"Same thing that happens to everyone here," he said with sudden bright bitterness. "He got killed in action a few weeks ago. My mom wrote and told me about the memorial service they had for him. Guess I ended up the big winner after all, huh?"

Naomi sat up and wrapped her arms around the young man who meant the world to her. "I'm sorry he died, but I'm not sorry you're alive. I'll never be sorry you're alive. So you want a son to honor him somehow?" she continued hesitantly, still not certain what it was he wanted.

"I want a son…" he paused and chuckled a little in surprise. "I like the sound of that! I want a son…to have the life Blair should have had, if the world hadn't gone insane. This may sound weird, but the first thing I thought when I read Mom's letter was: now I'll never get a chance to know him. It hit me; if we hadn't been rivals, we would have been great friends. And I don't know, somehow having a child to carry on that name, it seems right. Blair was an only child, I do have my sisters, my folks aren't alone. And, oh, hell…you think I'm nuts, don't you?"

"I think you are a wonderful, sensitive, man whom I'm proud to be with," Naomi said a simplicity that underscored her sincerity.

He made no reply, but bent down again and kissed her gently, marveling that this young woman loved him. He'd never imagined he would ever find someone like Naomi; beautiful, kind, compassionate, brave and passionate. And not only had he found her, but he'd found her here; in the depths of hell. He knew that no matter how long he lived he'd never be able to think of the war without a twinge of thankfulness for bringing this remarkable young woman into his life.

"You keep that up and I'll be late for my shift," Naomi teased, making no move to dissuade him.

"Can't be denying our troops their aid and comfort, I reckon," he drawled with a smile, reluctantly straightening back up. "Oh, how I wish we were back home again! I don't think I'd let you out of my sight."

"Well, that could be…embarrassing, actually," she grinned back, sitting up herself. "And awkward in public restrooms. There are some things that are simply not meant to be shared."

"Turning prudish, are you? Next thing I know you'll be insisting on a formal dinner date and a proper bed with starched linens," he teased. "And you'll not even kiss me unless we have been engaged for six months."

"Don't laugh too hard, Darling. There was a time, not that long ago, when that might have been quite true," she replied with a slight smile. "But that was before you totally corrupted me." The smile had morphed into a grin, and the glint in her eyes went straight to his groin.

"All right, Young Lady, enough! You look at me like that and we'll both end up being reported as AWOL. Come on, I'd best get you back before I give in to temptation," he decided, standing and offering her a hand up.

She mock pouted as she gained her feet, brushing bits of debris off her pants with brisk efficiency. When they were once again presentable they strolled hand-in-hand back to the camp, not speaking, content to bask in each other's presence. Arriving at the small lot where Jon's ambulance was parked, they kissed one last time. Jon reluctantly pulled away, then Naomi stood in the dirt road watching the ponderous vehicle until it was lost from site behind the trees.

Already she was counting the minutes until they could be together again.

"Hey, Sandburg! Quit you're daydreaming and report to triage! Word has it we're going to be hit hard with casualties. Move it, girl!" Major Harriman's strident voice cut through her reverie; with a hastily sketched salute she headed to the triage area without comment.

The 'word' ended up being right; they were hit with a deluge of casualties, arriving by both air and land. Naomi had proven to be an excellent triage nurse, her ability to determine the severity of a patient's injuries was just shy of uncanny. Working closely with Dr. Edwards, her personal favorite among the doctors, they soon fell into an efficient rhythm. The parade of wounded, maimed, dying and dead seemed endless, and after hours of treating them faces started melding together into one collage of pain.

Until everything seemed to stop and surroundings faded to black when Naomi Esther Sandburg looked down at the face of a new arrival, into dark blue eyes she'd recognize anywhere. Even when they were staring from a corpse on a stretcher.

Then the blackness seeped over her remaining vision and she sank into a merciful faint, her slender form falling gracefully alongside the body of the man she loved.

TSTSTS

"Naomi, you have to eat something," Rosalie urged, holding out a bowl of thin soup to the young woman. Since her collapse in triage three days before the nurse had not eaten anything, only occasionally sipping water. She hadn't spoken at all and her normally luminous eyes were still and dull. She hadn't shed a tear, nor had she spoken since Jon's body had been brought in. Since Naomi had few friends among the other personnel, no one seemed to recognize that the dead soldier she'd fainted by was the young man she'd been involved with.

They assumed she had simply reached her breaking point; God knew it had happened before to others. If she didn't snap out of it soon, they would have to ship her back to the States; she wasn't any use to the unit like she was. Adding to the problem, she was ill as well, even without eating she was having bouts of dry heaving each morning. They'd already pulled some blood for testing in hopes that if they could cure the physical ailment she'd snap out of the depressive state she was currently in.

In the meantime the others, chief amongst them Rosalie, took care of the stricken young woman. Though Naomi wasn't popular, she was far from reviled, either. The rest of the unit took care of her faithfully…gently…and most with the unspoken thought 'there but for the grace of God goes I.'

On the fifth day the results of the various tests came back and Dr. Edwards volunteered to be the one to talk to the young woman. He'd grown to respect Naomi Sandburg, and though he was less than pleased by what the tests revealed, he wasn't so unyielding that he couldn't understand.

"Naomi, there's no way…nor reason…to sugar coat this. I hope some part of you is hearing me here, because it's more important than ever for you to come out of this. Naomi, you're pregnant. Since you're not showing as yet, I have to figure it's happened since your arrival in country. You're going to be discharged and sent home, Dear. You need to get some help, pull yourself together, this baby is going to need his mother. If you want to contact the father, you need only ask; we'll do everything we can to ensure he's is apprised of the situation," he continued, holding her chilled hands in his large, warm ones. "I'm sorry this has happened, you had a fine future in the military. But you can still build a good life for yourself and this child, and that's what you need to concentrate on. You. And this child…"

 **Present**

"…within two weeks I was back in San Francisco; discharged, disgraced, jobless and homeless. My parents were furious, I had barely enough money saved to survive a month on. And the only real job skill I had, nursing, I simply could no longer face doing. On the plus side I was functioning again, and my first prenatal exams showed my pregnancy appeared to be normal and my health was overall good. So I took a page out of Jon's book and decided to embrace the younger generation's philosophy. There I found the acceptance I never found in the military, they welcomed me with open arms and no judgments," Naomi finished, gently replacing the dog tags in the box where Jim had found them. "And I found a lot to respect and admire in their beliefs and philosophies."

"Did you ever find out what happened to Jon?" Ellison asked gently.

"Yes, I did, actually. The story I heard was that he was returning to the lines to pick up more wounded when a child ran in front of the ambulance. He swerved into a field to avoid the kid, and hit a land mine. Freak accident. And yet…so like Jon."

"And you've never told Blair this story? Why?" Jim questioned with a puzzled frown.

"Oh, Jim, there were a lot of reasons. Blair doesn't even know I served in the military, it's not something I'm especially proud of. We shouldn't even have been involved in that country's problems! I wanted Blair to grow up seeing all the possibilities life can offer, seeing potential friends in strangers. If he didn't know who his father was, then he had the hope of someday meeting him, the dream of getting to know him. Telling Blair that his father died long before he was born seemed a cruel way to destroy that hope. Wondering seemed less painful than knowing in this case," she explained.

"Oh, I can't agree there, Naomi. Blair's dad was a good man, a brave man. He died honorably, saving a life. He loved you, and vice versa. These are all things he needs to know for certain. As for your service in the military, I think he'd only think more of you, if such a thing were possible. And it certainly explains how he's taken to police work so naturally," he concluded with a grin.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Naomi growled softly, shooting a wry look at the tall man. But the look was wasted on Jim as his attention was on a yellowed piece of paper that had been in with the dog tags.

"What's this?" he wondered, carefully unfolding the aged paper.

It was a half sheet of notebook paper, covered on one side by three columns of writing. Listed were places, ranging from Martha's Vineyard to the Australian Outback, and each item was followed by a year, the oldest being 1971, the most recent 1996. Naomi reached out a trembling hand and took the sheet back from the detective, folding it again with tender care.

"That's 'The List'," she explained, the title obvious in her tone.

"The List?"

"Yeah. Jon and I started it in Nam. It was all the places we dreamed of going, we planned to visit. I kept it, and eventually Blair and I managed to get to each one. It sounds silly, I suppose, but it was my way of memorializing him. He wanted to travel the world so much, and all he ever got to see was Viet Nam. It just wasn't fair," she murmured, carefully closing the box before Jim could find something else to question.

He watched her silently for a moment, then spoke again in the uncomfortable stillness. "Did you ever contact his family? After you came home?"

Naomi's delicate features froze in an expression of pain and regret as she answered his query. "Yes. Once. They were…not pleased. I suppose I could have timed it better, but they were not willing to accept the idea that their son had loved someone like me, had violated their beliefs by being intimate with someone like me. Not only were we not wed, but when they heard my last name?" The wince and deep sigh told Jim all he needed to know about the Richmond's reaction to the name 'Sandburg.'

"I'm sorry, Naomi," the big detective said softly, gently wrapping a comforting arm around the slender shoulders.

"Thank you, Jim," she replied, patting his arm affectionately. "And that was another reason for not telling Blair about Jon. I was afraid he'd want to meet his grandparents, and they would never have accepted him. Which is such a shame, he looks a lot like Jon did."

"Do you have a photo?"

"No. We never had a chance to get a picture taken there, he didn't have one in his possessions, and, of course, his parents wouldn't provide one. But I don't need a photograph, I have his son to remind me. Everything good and noble and caring in Blair reminds me of Jon, and that's a million times better than any picture would be," she smiled, despite the moisture gathered in her eyes.

"I see your point, though I still wish you'd reconsider telling him," Jim agreed, stepping back and tilting his head.

"I'll consider it," she replied, dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her flowing blouse.

"Blair and Jacob are back," the Sentinel announced, setting the small box containing the dog tags and list amongst the pile of packages to be kept.

"Hey, Mom, Jim, we spotted the perfect spot for lunch! There's a new open-air deli down on Main Street that didn't look too busy. I could go for a good, hearty sandwich right about now, how about you guys?" Blair's energetic voice preceded him into the room.

"Sounds fine to me, Chief, if it's okay with your mom and uncle," Ellison replied, smiling at his younger friend. Naomi's story had answered some long time questions he'd harbored regarding the anthropologist's unconventional childhood. Though he would not have made the same decisions Naomi had made, he could understand the reasoning, and the core of steely determination that was under her deceptively feminine appearance.

"Of course, Sweetie, wherever you want," Blair's mother replied as Jacob nodded his approval from the side.

"Great! Let's get going, then. Hey, you two didn't get much done while we were gone. You behaved yourselves didn't you? You didn't find more baby pictures or something disgusting like that, did you? Naomi, I told you not to show Jim any more embarrassing stuff about me…" Blair's voice trailed off as his Sentinel raised one hand.

"Slow down there, Chief. We just got to talking, nothing 'improper.' Figured you two were getting a break, it was only fair we get one, too. Now, come on, food awaits," Ellison said, urging the three Sandburgs out ahead of him. Naomi and Jacob went first, while Blair followed them, casting a doubtful eye back at his friend.

"Well, okay, but I'm warning you Jim, you just watch yourself! She's my mom, man."

The End.

 _ **Author's notes:** This story is dedicated to the memory of my dear friend, Esther, who passed away in April at age 85. She met her John when he lent her clothing after the Red Cross misplaced hers during WWI. Her story followed a much different path, though, as they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary several years ago. Though always very proper, she still shared Naomi's 'spirit of adventure' and will be missed by friends and family alike. August 2002._


End file.
